The High Cost
by raileht
Summary: His freedom had come at a price but it would be a lot less than what loving her had cost him. (AU Angst)


**The High Cost**  
by raile

**Summary: **His freedom had come at a price but it would be a lot less than what loving her had cost him.  
**Disclaimer:** the ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.  
**Rating: **T, to be safe

**Note:** not my couple, not even 'my' characters. And classifying this as an AU, personally, because I know it'll never happen on the show. If I've trampled over them or this, then I apologize ahead. I know I'm trespassing on alien territory here.

* * *

"_Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings." –Anais Nin_

* * *

Years from now, maybe one or both will wonder how they ended up there that night.

And maybe, just maybe, once they get past the hurt, the anger and even the shame, they might remember. Maybe then they might forget.

Then maybe he could heal and maybe she might stop regretting.

So many mights, so many maybes and so much hurt.

But the night was young and he was angry and she…? Well, she is what she is and somehow, though he didn't know what that was exactly anymore, he couldn't help but feel something in the sea of anger and rage that were more than lingering under the surface.

What that something was, he didn't want to name. He might have before, but not anymore. He didn't cope well with being hurt and he was even less capable of coping with betrayal.

And Alicia Florrick might disagree with being accused of doing that to him, but he didn't feel inclined to care about what she might agree or disagree with at the moment. He felt something for her, but days where he let that lead him were gone. He still felt something but that wasn't worth anything anymore, not even when she was standing in front of him with those coffee brown eyes and painted red lips.

Two things that used to haunt Will Gardner, two things that used to paralyze him—the same things that now made his mouth curl in a sneer she has never caused to appear on his handsome face.

Until tonight.

"Go home," he told her quietly, his voice deep but not cold. He was angry but he won't give her the satisfaction of seeing just how much she had affected him, how much she still affected him.

"Will, I—"

"I can smell the alcohol on your breath, Alicia," he said, turning his back on her and closing his laptop. He had been intent on working through the night when she had walked into his office unexpectedly and he was sure any hope of getting anything done at that point was lost.

"I'm not drunk," she replied, her eyes widening slightly, stung by his indifference but not surprised. "Will, I just—"

"You aren't going to find what you're looking for here, Alicia."

She stopped, blinking, "What I'm looking for?"

"You want forgiveness," he turned to face her, his face calm and passive—a mask of indifference and she had seen it before but had never seen him look at her that way, not even during what she had then thought would be their darkest moments. "You want to hear that what you did was okay, that I understand. I don't want to hear it—any of it. _Go home_."

She stopped, her eyes trying in vain to say the words he had just denied her, words that were now ringing in her head. Her fingers shook, her stomach clenched, her cheeks grew paler and her legs felt as if they were going to give from underneath her. She hoped to god they wouldn't.

"I never meant to hurt you, Will," her voice was quiet and almost fragile.

On another day, in another time, he would have stopped, he would have looked at her and would have seen her. If this was before, he'd have thought twice about saying the words that were trying to claw their way out of his drying throat. But it isn't the same anymore and this was now, this was _after_ and this was not about who hurt who and he did not feel inclined to spare her any longer.

Because god knows she hadn't even had the decency to give him the same consideration.

"You never meant to hurt me," Will said slowly, his dark eyes meeting hers and she swallowed the urge to flinch at the nothingness she saw in them. "Then I guess that just makes everything better, doesn't it? It's all okay now?"

Her brow furrowed and she bit the inside of her cheek, "Will, please—"

"I don't want you."

His voice was dull and he stood still, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when he caught the look of surprise on her face. His eyes took in the way her lips parted and her sad dark eyes widened. In the silence of the empty room, he could have sworn he had heard her gasp as if she had been physically struck like a punch to the stomach or a bayonet through the heart.

Will knew that feeling all too well so he didn't blink even when her fabled composure and restraint could not even hide the way her face contorted and the pain was made visible to him.

It was not a victory but it was something akin to it and Will ignored how he felt his hands tingled when he saw the hurt ravage her paling lovely face. He was running on empty but even then, in his emptiness, he felt the slightest brush of remorse for his undeniable need to return the favor she hadn't even deigned to impart on him.

Hurt her the way she had hurt him, make her bleed the way she made him bleed, make her see what she had done to him, make her _feel_.

Then he remembered his own pain, remembered what she had done to him, of the courtesies she had denied him and it helped wash away the momentary weakness of letting himself be driven once more by whatever it was he had left for her.

Will hadn't been lying when he said he didn't want her.

There was still something left for her that was not anger, something palpable but it was not enough to make him want to be with her again, not enough to make him wish he could have her lips pressed against his once more.

He didn't want her, not anymore because he knew he wouldn't be having _her_.

It would be someone else—it wouldn't be Alicia because that Alicia was gone now and some days, sometimes he even found himself wondering if perhaps the woman he had known even existed at all. She was standing in front of him and yet he could no longer _see_ her.

He could only see Alicia Florrick the consummate politician's wife, the cunning one with the brilliant mind that was not only capable of stunning in the courtroom, but as well as out of it. She had used him, used his love, used his firm—used everything he gave a damn about.

She was the woman who had used him and discarded him like he was some toy she had gotten tired of—the same woman for whom he had risked everything for and now stood to take that very same everything away from him.

What was in her place now was someone different, someone else that might look like her but was certainly not her. Having her, being with her now, he was sure, would feel different, wrong and even disconnected. Meaningless sex with a stranger was one thing, sex with some replica of someone you used to know was another.

Now she stood on the very ground that saved her from her ruin, the very same place that might end up with that inescapable fate with no safe place to fall back on all thanks to her—it was like some twisted joke someone had forgotten to tell him he was the punch line of. He didn't know her and he didn't want her. She was everything that hurt and everything that was wrong and somehow, try as he might, he could not see where exactly it had gone so wrong.

Having eyes was not enough, he was now learning, because he had been blind, so blind, to the point that he had led himself to what could only be his own destruction.

"Will, I—"

That voice, husky and textured, used to be one he had always looked forward to hearing, now grated on his frazzled nerves. It reminded him of her laughter, huskier and more textured, infectious, joyful and, dare he think, _adorable_. It reminded him of too many moments that needed to be forgotten, that needed not be remembered because even though it caused him so much joy in the past to be around her, to be in her presence, it only caused him to hurt now.

Memories were equal to pain and pain was not something he was eager to revel in.

"Stop saying my name!" he suddenly lashed out roughly, losing whatever control he had been so intent on holding on to, causing her to take a half a step backward, flinching. "Stop saying my name and get _out_, Alicia. You _left_ this place and took it all with you. Now, _go! _It's what you wanted, wasn't it? So get _the hell_ out!"

"I never wanted to hurt you!" she suddenly said, her dark eyes pleading with him despite his anger, "I had to go, Will. I had to leave!"

"So _leave_, Alicia! What are you still doing here? What else do you want from me that you haven't taken already?" he growled, clenching his fists at his sides.

"I didn't want to leave without explaining why—" her voice broke slightly but even that wasn't enough to stop his anger in its tracks. The pain made it impossible to see through much of anything anymore, the same way his blind devotion to her in the past made it impossible to see anything or anyone _but _her.

"Explain _what_?" he sneered, "Explain why you went behind _my _back and planned your little coup with Cary? Explain why you lied to my face? Explain why, of all people I was stupid enough _not _to think would stab me in the back, it was you all along who would ruin _everything _I have spent the last decade of my life building?"

He took a step towards her and she took another one backwards, her eyes flashing in a moment of fear and he stopped, staring at her for a moment. Her eyes were wide, wary and hurt but he simply gave her a small laugh of derision and shook his head at her.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice calmer, but it had a mocking lilt to it, "I would never _dare_ lay a hand on the First Lady of Illinois."

He'd said the words with so much spite it would have been a lot less harder to bear if he had actually struck her instead. Alicia bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself to calm down and to never forget to breathe. She had been through worst, hadn't she? Alicia was strong—stronger than this, whatever he was prepared to throw at her. It couldn't be anything less than what she deserved.

"This was never my plan, Will, please believe me," she said quietly, pleading in the silence of the room and in the loudness of his anger, "If there was any way this could have happened without hurting you, I would have—"

"You would have _what_, Alicia? What the hell would you have done?" he growled, "God damn it, Alicia! I am so sick of all this bullshit! What the hell did you _think_ would happen when you had your little deal with Cary? What the hell was going through your _mind_ when you started taking _our _clients? Did you think you could just say _sorry_ again and expect me to take it like I always do?"

"No, of course not—"

"How much of an idiot am I to you? How big of a fool did I succeed in making myself out to be?" Will snarled, "Oh, yeah, let's go to Will, he's an easy mark. He's an idiot, the stupid little lapdog for Alicia, he'll do anything and—"

"Stop it..."

"—just say the word and he'll come running like the little mo—"

"Stop it, please!" she said, raising her voice a little, "I _never_ thought that way of you! I didn't know what else I could do, Will. I _had_ to go. I had to do what was best for me!"

"What was best for you?" he echoed and he wasn't sure whether to laugh or not, "What about what was best for me _for once_? What the hell do you think I've been doing the last four years? Poor Alicia, humiliated and hurt. Poor maligned Alicia, everyone is picking on her. _Poor Alicia, she needs someone to make her feel fucking better because she's just poor sad Saint fucking Alicia!_"

Her mouth dropped open and he could see the indignation on her face mixing with the hurt he had caused her using that infamous moniker, "I have a family and—"

"And a husband who cheated on you and used you?" he sneered, "I get it, Alicia, I get it. I _always_ have. I gave you a job, I was your shoulder to cry on, I was the one who was there to listen to you. I stepped back when you asked me to and I came to you whenever you called for me like I _was_ your fucking lapdog. And you know what? I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_ I don't have a family for you to consider sparing _me_ for, but just once—_just fucking once_ please stop using the family card because, to be honest, it is getting really fucking old."

The venom in his voice and the way his eyes simmered like burning embers took her off-guard, leaving her in stunned silence as she took in the animosity he didn't feel an ounce of hesitation showing her.

"I gave a damn about you when nobody else did," Will said coldly, his eyes thunderous and his voice a low rumble, "I fought for you, I risked _everything_ for you and I was there for you when you couldn't find anyone else to hang on to. I'm not asking for you to be grateful, I never have…I was just stupid enough to hope that it would have at least meant that I would have someone with _me_. Someone I could trust, someone I could be myself with without having to worry about getting up and finding a knife wedged into my back."

Her eyes were sorry and sad, the guilt leaking as she made no effort to hide it, "Betraying you was never my intention, Will."

"That doesn't really matter now, does it, Alicia?" he said, leaning back against his desk and shoving his hands in his pocket, "I never forced you into anything…I would have settled for your friendship, for whatever you were able to offer me…but you came to _me_, Alicia. I admit I got weak and I know it was stupid and I was at fault too, but you _came to me_…"

He looked down at his feet, breathing in for a moment before looking up at her again, his already dark eyes covered in shadows, his shoulders low.

"You had no right to use me the way you did," he continued, "You can say what you want, you can say what you never meant to do, you can even tell yourself you didn't and you might even believe it…but you did, Alicia, and you had _no right_ to do it to me…and I never expected you would."

Alicia shook her head, shock on her face and denying his words completely, "I _didn't_ use you, We were both in that relationship, Will, we—"

"Relationship? Was _that_ what it was?" he asked, his face breaking into a grin that led to a genuine laugh, "I thought I was the dirty little secret, Alicia? The little hiccup Eli Gold might need to handle? Wasn't I the hotel bill that should never be discovered, the little Page-Six worthy indiscretion?"

She reared back, "That was not what it was and you know it!"

"How was I supposed to know what we were when all you _ever_ did was walk away!" he shouted recklessly, his eyes fierce and so full of anger that was not too far from turning into rage.

"That's not fair, Will, we both—"

"Yes, Alicia, we _both _did whatever the hell we did," he latched on to her words with a vengeance, "But don't you even _dare_ tell me I walked away because you were the one who kept doing that. I wouldn't have unless you asked me to—whether it was spoken or not. All I _ever _did was think of _you _and what you needed me to do, what you needed me to _be_!"

Alicia felt her insides churn, "I gave you what I could, Will, I did…"

"And _I_ gave you what I could, even when it hurt," his eyes bore into hers harshly, "So don't stand there and tell me what is and isn't fair because out of all this, I am the one left standing on the brink of losing _everything_. Keep your family, keep your husband and his goddamned governorship. And while you're at it, get the hell out and go back to Cary. You gave up whatever right you had to walk in here like you belonged. You don't. Leave."

She flinched, her cheek twitching slightly and she blinked her eyes in an effort to fight the sudden stinging she felt there, "This isn't how I want it to end, Will."

His hand itch to throw something—_anything_, "After what you did? How the hell did you imagine this would end?"

She took a brave step forward, her eyes pleading for him to understand, "I have responsibilities. I have my life and—"

"And I didn't have mine?"

"It was a hell of a lot harder for me than it was for you! You think it was easy for me to walk away? I can't just drop _everything_ for—"

"For someone like me?" he broke in, spreading his hands in front of him, "A lost cause?"

"—for something I wasn't sure was worth risking what I spent my whole adult life building!" she fired back her finish, her voice rising, "I have children, Will! And I couldn't hurt them any more than they've already been hurt. And you? You are dangerous to me. I can't lie—I might have been happy with you _for a while_, but what future did we have? We were sex and something else but it wasn't enough to justify hurting my children!

"Then you should've thought twice before getting in the goddamned bed, Alicia!"

He shouted again and this time, it was loud enough to render her in a brief silence. She took a deep breath, nodding slowly before speaking once more, "Yes, I should have but how was I supposed to know it would have meant more than what it actually was? It was sex, Will, it was—"

"I _loved_ you!"

His voice boomed with his declaration, his body shaking and his hands clenching tighter and his dull nails dug insistently into his palm. He could not help the way his chest tightened, the way his head throbbed as if it was ready to explode. He hadn't meant to say those words, but they were out there now and she had heard them. He didn't know whether to laugh at the sight of utter shock on her face, as if she hadn't known, as if she hadn't been aware of what she had been doing to him during the whole affair.

"I was in love with you," Will breathed, his voice hoarse, shoulders tense and his heart threatening to explode underneath his skin.

She crossed her arms over her chest protectively, her bottom lip trembling as she curled her body forward, looking away as if she couldn't bear to look at what she'd done. What she was protecting herself from, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't stop now that he had begun. There was no other way for him to go except forward now that he had opened the door.

"I…I never loved anyone like I loved you," he said quietly and honestly, "And you…the grand jury, the disbarment—I took it all. I risked my work, my career and I even jeopardized Diane's career—_everything_…for you. Do you know why?"

Alicia stayed silent, her eyes glued on the ground at her feet. Her throat had gone dry and it wasn't the alcohol or anything else. Her heart seemed stuck there, throbbing, pounding and it seemed that with each minute that passed, it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

"Look at me."

She wouldn't—couldn't.

"Alicia, at least have the decency to look me in the eye," he rumbled, "You owe me that…at the very least. Look at me."

Reluctantly, weakly, she did.

And she couldn't help the pain that surged within her anew. The way he looked, the way his face seemed so contorted, she couldn't put a name to it. Maybe it was too many things, maybe the churning of her soul was making it hard to distinguish if it was his pain she was seeing or it was her guilt magnifying everything that was on his mien.

"I risked it _all_ for you, Alicia, because I _thought_ you were worth it," he said and then he shook his head, looking away from her and out of the windows, taking in the still dark skies. "You nearly broke me, even now, you're still trying to break me and for the life of me, I can't understand _why_. What did I do? What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"

His voice wasn't angry and instead, it almost sounded as if he was pleading, as if somehow, with all the questions swimming within his anguished tormented soul that was the one that stood out the most. And maybe it was.

She pressed her fingers over her lips for a moment, shaking her head before she was able to speak, "Nothing, Will, you-you didn't do anything," she offered quietly, her voice cracking as she forced herself to look at him. "This was never supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be this way."

"But it is, Alicia," he sighed heavily, "You brought me down to my knees so many times, but I always came back. You wore me down, you took everything I had to offer and yet, here you are, back again but…there is nothing left, Alicia. There's _nothing _left to take."

A silence fell and all she could do was look at him and try and continue to breathe. Everything felt tight, everything felt like pain. Every pore in her body screamed to get out—it had been screaming at her to do that ever since she stepped out of the elevators. But she had gone to him, she had to see him and now, here she was. There they were.

Will looked up, his eyes deep and dark, pierced right into her soul, "All I ever wanted was to put you back together again…because I couldn't take seeing you in pieces. It wasn't right."

He let out a breath quietly and ran a hand through his hair, settling it on the back of his head. He gripped his nape tightly for a second and squeezed before looking up at her, his eyes full of hurt, "I wanted to put you back together again and I don't regret it if I did or even if I just helped in one small way or another…I would never be sorry for that."

Like a fading light, his voice trailed off and then he looked at her.

And slowly, ever so slowly, he smiled.

"…I guess it's just that I never expected that at the end of it all, I'd be the one left in pieces."

His last words were spoken quietly and they struck her hard, as if she had been doused in ice cold water that somehow brought her to clarity. She had been so afraid, so hurt, so completely enraptured by her own troubles, by her own life and everything else that came in between that she never once considered _him_. Not once did she truly think how he was being affected, how those late nights together made him feel, how his own losses that she had invariably led him to had cost him. She hadn't seen, not in the time they'd spent together and apart, how recklessly he had been handling his own life for her sake.

Alicia felt her throat suddenly close, shutting tight, choking her as he looked at her. Her lips parted and she audibly took in a strangled breath. It wasn't just his words now, but that smile as well.

That smile wasn't his, it wasn't Will. It seemed more like a grimace, a physical manifestation of the pain that he had once tried to hide from her. It was not of anger, not of rage nor was it a tool intended to manipulate her with.

It was what he had refused to let her see before, what he had been hiding from her every single time she walked away, every single time he let her slip through his fingers. This was the side of Will he had kept hidden, the side of him that he hid in the darkest corners where he never once allowed her to enter in an effort to protect her and avoid adding more to her burdens.

Will shook his head again, looking away from her as she stood there, pale and still as if she was a statue carved from marble with her hands pressed over her lips, eyes wet and her dark lashes thick and heavy.

He hadn't been trying to be cruel when he'd said he could smell the alcohol on her breath. He knew she wasn't an alcoholic but that did not mean she hadn't drank any that night.

Will looked at her, breathing in deeply, exhausted and weary. He had taken things farther than he ever wanted, revealed to her things he had never intended to but it was too late to go back now. He had said what he'd said and this time, there was no voicemail to be lost, no miscommunication to hide behind. She was there, standing quite so still, as he poured out what little he'd had left that she hadn't taken from him.

And he was tired, so very tired, and now all he wanted was for her to go.

Will stared at Alicia before shaking his head and pushing off his desk. He grabbed his phone and began to close the books he'd left open on his desk before taking the jacket he had thrown haphazardly on the side of it. He didn't slip it on and instead, folded it on top of one arm before turning to face her again.

"Where's your car? Tell me you didn't drive here."

Alicia looked up, "Wh-No, I…I took a cab."

Will nodded, "You're not riding a cab alone at this time of night. Who can I call? I'm assuming it's not going to be Peter."

"No, I…" she stopped, blinking "No."

"Fine," he nodded, taking out his phone and began to scroll blandly through his contacts, "I'm assuming Cary hasn't changed his number yet?"

"No, no he hasn't," she shook her head. "I…why are you calling—"

"So he can drive you home," Will said simply, looking at her bluntly, "You were at the office together, working late on your firm. You lost track of time. He drove you home. That sounds believable enough, doesn't it?"

"Will, you don't have to—"

He raised an eyebrow at her, unable to fight the urge to take one last dig at her, "Sure I have to. Can't have the newly elected Illinois Governor's wife getting out of some strange man's car now, can't we?"

In another time, they would have laughed this off together.

His voice would have been lighter, his lips would be curled in a teasing smile and he would have that warm rumbling laugh that only he seemed to possess. She would have joined him, would have let herself indulge in the laughter he was so capable of eliciting from her. That had been their way, how they would have ended a hard night.

But this was now and they can't, not anymore—not just because she had left and he had been hurt. Not just because things had changed and she had done things that made him bleed in ways she hadn't even considered when she'd taken that leap with Cary Agos.

It was also not just because of the way he was looking at her, the way his words were still echoing in her turbulent mind. Nor was it in the way he stood at a distance that never fell short of two feet or so away from her and the way he no longer felt the need to choose his words around her.

Those could factor in as to why they could not laugh this off anymore, but there was still something heavier in the air that made it impossible to go back to the way it used to be.

It was because Alicia had broken too many things too many times already and had broken the one man she had never imagined she could break.

But wait, that sounded wrong, didn't it? Maybe it wasn't that she never imagined she could break him, no. Maybe it was she never thought enough about him to be careful enough not to break him. That was more fitting. She'd broken things she never even thought twice about, things that she should have been more careful with.

Alicia had broken his trust, broke him and broke their once treasured friendship—and that had led to the ruin of the fragile frenetic relationship-that-wasn't that had taken its place. She had committed unalterable mistakes, mistakes that made her feel she was beyond redemption for.

The regret within her settled there like acid, eating its way inside of her, reminding her again and again of every single misstep.

She had done what was best with the only intention of escaping herself as her ultimate goal. She had not thought about him, about what the consequences of her actions would lead to. If she'd never thought about hurting him then she never really thought about him before. It was as painfully clear as that.

As it stood, whatever they had—a romance, a hotel bill, a relationship that wasn't, a painful memory—was now nothing but a tale of broken things, an inevitable mistake that was best buried and forgotten. It was better off that way because despite how much she had hurt him, how much she was taking away from him, it would at least serve some form of purpose. Because through it all—through all the pain, all the anger, all the regrets and the lies, deceit and betrayal, at least one good thing could still come out of this.

It would grant Will Gardner his freedom—from her, from the unrequited, from the impossible possibilities he had been the fool to believe she could ever grant him.

And maybe, just maybe, then he would be able to learn to finally breathe again without her and without the pain that came with the very memory of her face. Maybe then it would be nice to be able to breathe once again without a knife lodged right into his heart.

They can't ever be one of those nostalgic love affairs, never be the wistful _what if_ that almost became. No, they couldn't be that anymore—too many mistakes had been made to make it so. They were simply just two people who'd made irredeemable mistakes, who had caused enough hurt between them that rendered everything that could have ever been simply be hopelessly foolish shattered dreams.

His freedom had come at a price but it would be a lot less than what loving her had cost him.


End file.
